


Caring Is Easy

by FriendshipCastle



Series: Spookums Radio Anthology [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Canon Compliant, F/M, Jon avoids intimacy so dang hard, Jon had a lonely childhood, Sleepy Cuddles, T for swears and college alcohol use and smoking, pre-show through the end of season 2, workplace harassment mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendshipCastle/pseuds/FriendshipCastle
Summary: Eight scenes from Georgie and Jon's relationship, from dating to breakup to friends again due to circumstances outside Jon's control.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Spookums Radio Anthology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772725
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	Caring Is Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I think Georgie is great and I wanted to consider some of the ways she and Jon didn't work out. Jon being ace comes up in this but isn't a part of in-depth discussions (apart from one non-explicit scene where Jon sets a hard 'no') or their breakup.

They met at a party at uni. She was starting to… reconnect with the world, after Alex. A sweet girl in one of her electives had recommended the history department’s parties and had given her a smile that was hard to resist, and now here Georgie was. The sweet girl, who it turned out was quite young for her age, was puking in the bathroom. Georgie was holding her hair. At least she had a half-cup of red wine to keep her company on the cold tile. Sometimes, she sipped her wine. She felt moderately useful.

“Oh,” said a very dry, almost comically posh voice. “So it _is_ taken. Damn.”

“Afraid so.” Georgie raised her cup in a sympathetic toast to the skinny guy in black jeans that didn’t quite fit him. 

“Javier said it was occupied but I thought he was just trying to get me to leave early.” He shifted his weight from one leg to another. “Do you know how much longer it’ll be? Should I take my chances in the alley?”

“She should be done in a minute. Viv, can you—? Ahhhhnope, she’s about to start again. Are you squeamish?”

“Yes,” he said, but he dumped out his own cup—the contents looked like straight whiskey—and filled it with water from the bathroom tap. “She probably can’t keep it down, but it’s nice to rinse your mouth out every now and then.”

“Lot of experience heaving in random bathrooms at parties?” Georgie asked.

“Some. More than I’d like. I mean, look at me.” He pulled one side of his ragged jumper to demonstrate how thin he was, the fabric going taught against him. He really was mostly clothing. He looked like a puffy dog that had been dipped in water, all the fluff going flat.

“Yeah, it would probably go right to your head.” Georgie squinted at him, some vague descriptors adding up. “You’re Jonathan, yes?”

He squatted down, leaving a hand on the counter to balance himself—the only sign he had been drinking. “I am. Why, has someone told you something about me?” 

“A few folks have complaints about the skinny guy with big eyebrows and a mean streak. That’s how they put it.”

Jonathan nodded. “Unsurprising. I’m awful.”

“I’m Georgie,” Georgie said, and stuck out the hand that wasn’t rubbing Viv’s back.

Jonathan shook it as his infamous eyebrows rose high, nearly disappearing into his shaggy hair. “Oh? Not Georgina Barker?”

“Guilty.”

Jonathan settled onto the floor, one leg kicked out, boxing them both into this itty bitty bathroom in an itty bitty student flat. “I hear nothing but good things about you, Georgie.”

Georgie snorted. “Sure.”

“I hear you’re an excellent listener.”

“I spent a bit too much time with the theater department, and they do love to hear themselves talk.”

“Ah yes, I’ve done a bit of AmDram. Their conclusion was that I’m an excellent listener, too, but that was because I favored monologues and didn’t mind giving my opinion on scenework.”

“But you also rip people a new one.”

“I was rarely asked for my opinion twice.”

Georgie was smiling at him now, her hand still against Viv’s spine. “And why such a rage against your peers, Jonathan?”

“Jon is fine. And I wouldn’t say they’re my peers.”

Georgie stifled a laugh at how pretentious he sounded. “Oh? Your subordinates?”

“Colleagues,” he said, grinning. Making a joke of himself. He looked slightly surprised he’d done it, too, which made Georgie smile all the wider.

“Georgie?” Viv whimpered.

“Yes, Viv?”

“Could you take me, urf.” She spat into the toilet. Jon slid his cup of water wordlessly forward, near Viv’s hand. She took it with a wobbly smile and rinsed her mouth out before managing, “Take me home?”

“Of course. You get it all out?” Georgie asked, helping Viv stand.

“Think so…”

“Good, that’s good. Jon, I’ll see you around?”

“Yes,” he said, looking up at her from the floor with a very faint smile still on his face. “I’d like that.”

—————————

Jon Sims was interesting, Georgie decided. Viv had been too embarrassed to look her in the eye for the past two weeks and Jon Sims was cute and sharp and he almost never smiled but when he did, it was like a little spark of triumph flared in her chest. Georgie was very good at getting him to smile.

One night, while they were walking back from a party and he was listing the reasons why his classmate, Deena, would make a poor pet owner despite her tipsy assertions to the contrary, Georgie took his hand.

His fingers curled around hers while he waved the other, tip of his cigarette shimmering, making his point. Then his fingers flexed and his voice died. “Ah.”

“Problem?” Georgie asked. She kept holding his hand, though. He hadn’t pulled away.

“N— uh. Hm.” He gripped her hand back. “What was I saying?”

“Deena. Can’t be bothered to get—”

“—can’t be, yes, she can’t be bothered to get cat food if it’s a weekend and there’s wine to be drunk or laps to sit on. Yes! She wants a cat but she crawls all over people like one herself. Ridiculous woman.”

“She’s just lonely, Jon.”

Jon was quiet for a moment. Their clasped hands were accumulating sweat. He said, “I suppose,” but the animation in his voice was gone. His tone was flat and bland and posh. He took a drag on his cigarette.

When Georgie looked at him—and they were the same height, she could look directly _at_ him—his mouth was a thin line of tension. He wasn’t looking at her.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Would you go on a date with me?”

She could see his throat move with a large, nervous swallow. The gulping sound, wet and miserable, was loud in an unexpected pocket of quiet.

Georgie leaned in a bit, gave his shoulder a light jostle. “First time getting asked out?”

“I, uh. No, actually. I’ve… dated. But this is the first time someone who spent more than a few hours with me asked me out.”

She had to laugh at that, a bright peal of laughter that shattered the silence around them. It was like the streets of London restarted—a few cars passed, a bus swung around the corner, someone opened a window and loud rap music clattered off buildings and down the road.

“We’ve already hung out, Jon,” Georgie reminded him. “Did you not see this coming? We’ve been getting lunch and dinner almost every day of the week.”

“You’re right,” Jon said slowly. His hand tightened around hers. “Very well. It’s a date.” He smiled at her nervously. She found it adorable, and would for quite a while yet.

—————————

“Oh god, I did really mean sleeping,” Jon said, backing up a step and breaking Georgie’s loose grip on the button of his jeans. “I’m, I’m sorry if I— Dammit. The, ah, euphemism slipped my mind. I’m terribly sorry.”

Georgie resettled her glasses on her nose and blinked at him. “Oh! No, _I’m_ sorry. Is this a religious thing?”

“Ah, no. No, this is just a ‘me’ thing. I’m not religious. I wasn’t raised— I’m not religious.”

“I’m so sorry, I just assumed you’d want to… Huh. Sorry.”

“Do… you want to?” Jon sounded genuinely confused. He was wearing a ratty shirt with yet another logo for a band she’d never heard of on it, his hair was getting long and messy, he had a three-day beard, and Georgie really, really did want to. 

“Yep,” she said. 

Jon blinked at her, looking even more baffled. “Well. Um. It’s… not really my thing.”

“What, at all?”

His tone was very firm as he said, “No. And I’d prefer not to talk about it, currently.” The certainty left his voice. “I, ah. Well. We could get a Chinese or, uh. If you’d rather leave, I suppose I understand.”

“Why would I want to leave?” Georgie asked. “I like you a whole lot and you were going to share your bed with me, yeah? As part of the ‘sleeping over’ you suggested?”

“Yes,” Jon said.

“Then we’ll probably cuddle. You're all right with cuddling, right?”

A corner of Jon’s mouth twitched. “I believe I can arrange a cuddle.”

“Perfect. And we can talk about it some other time.”

She saw his smile freeze, but he just said, “Ah, right,” and handed her a tattered takeout menu to select her dinner.

—————————

Georgie woke up to Jon’s knees pressed against her hip and his head on her shoulder. He was not drooling or snoring but he huffed softly, every now and then. His hands were tucked tight against him, one under his chin and one curled loosely around his ribs. They’d been dating for a year now and she slept over a few times a week, but she still never got over how adorable it was when he went fetal in the night. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, which was the closest area she could reach without moving.

The quality of his breathing changed, stopping then deepening. He hummed faintly and began to uncurl, shifting forward until his head was under her chin and his free arm was draped over her stomach.

“Jon,” she murmured.

“Hng?” he grunted.

“You have work.”

“Hm!” He struggled to sit up without opening his eyes. “Got it.”

“You have a few minutes,” she said.

Jon immediately slumped back down and tucked himself back under her chin. “Ah. A trick.”

“Not really. Just want you to be on time.”

He snorted gently. “No you don’t, you want me to quit.”

“I do,” she agreed. “It makes you pissy.”

Jon’s voice was drawling and slurry with sleep as he repeated the phrases he’d been giving her for a month now: “I’m only a year out of uni, Georgie. First jobs are always awful. At least it’s somewhat in my field.”

“It’s a good job on paper, Jon. Working for a museum right out of uni sounds great and will look great on a resume. Your coworkers are dickheads, though.”

“Yes,” Jon sighed. His arm tightened around her slightly, dragging them closer together. “Believe me, I am well aware. You only had to meet them the once.”

“So you just let them be dickheads?”

“They… they have seniority.”

Georgie snorted. “Doesn’t give them a right to talk to you like that. Or me.”

“Well, we’re never going to another one of those happy hours ever again, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Georgie wriggled so she and Jon were face to face. His eyes were downcast but not closed, his mouth a hard line. There were already a few stray grey hairs in his beard. She touched the edge of his jaw gently and watched him consciously relax from the miserable tightness he had been holding in him for the past four months whenever he thought she couldn’t see. “Jon?”

“Mm?”

“You can do better than that place.”

“Mm.”

“I have watched you eviscerate people for their opinions on everything from Boards of Canada to architecture. It’s weird to watch you grit your teeth when someone asks how you ‘scored an eight with massive tits.’”

Jon flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. “Georgie, could we not do this?”

“My master plan was to wake you up early and convince you to quit your job, actually,” she said. “Or at least tell HR when they say things that make you so uncomfortable. Because if they said that shit about me, I’m sure they’re saying worse things when it’s the ‘all boys club,’ and I know you—”

He rolled over and slid out of the bed. “I can’t. Not this early in the morning. It’s a bad time to make decisions.” His tone was flat. 

“I’m just saying it’s unprofessional of them, Jon—” But he was out of the room, the fan in his little bathroom clicking on as he started the shower. Georgie sighed deeply. 

—————————

Jon did not want to meet her parents. He wore a tie when she insisted he come with her to family brunch. Georgie wished she could fit in his sweatpants so she could wear those, just to make him look silly. Instead, she gritted her teeth and wore a nice dress, and Mr. and Mrs. Barker stared at this tidy man who was dating their daughter. Jon looked like he was in his mid-30s, hair already starting to grey and his tie in a perfect half-Windsor. He’d grown a goatee for this. Georgie’s mother looked terrified for her.

Jon was almost completely silent throughout the meal. He answered questions with as few words as possible. He smiled at jokes when he realized they were jokes. He ate very little and drank a lot of tea. When Georgie’s napkin accidentally slipped off her lap and she bent to retrieve it, she saw his fingers clenched in the fabric of his slacks. Jon was gripping the cloth so tightly, his hands trembled.

When she and Jon left, an excruciating hour later, Georgie asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were nervous?”

Jon looked at her, mouth thin and unhappy. “I did.”

“No, you told me that you didn’t want to meet my family because I couldn’t meet any of yours. You told me you didn’t like small talk. You told me—”

“I didn’t want to do this, Georgie. I told you that.” His voice was acid.

Georgie asked, brash and unashamed, “Are you embarrassed about dating me?”

Jon’s eyes widened. “What? No. Why would I be? You’re wonderful.”

“Why didn’t you want to meet my parents, Jon?”

His mouth opened and closed, unsure. “I… I was nervous about it.”

“That’s obvious _now_. Why were you nervous about meeting my parents?”

“I’ve never met anyone’s parents before.”

It was Georgie’s turn to gape. “What? Don’t be silly, Jon. You’ve met parents. Like… you’ve met your friends’ parents, back when you were…” Georgie trailed off as she realized Jon was looking ahead, not speaking. She remembered the few brief comments he’d made about his childhood, his grandmother, the bitter little self-deprecating smile he wore when he talked about being too smart for no one’s good. Georgie had just made a huge assumption. “Jon, did you… have you had friends? When you were growing up and all that?”

There was a pause before he said, “Yes.” He did not sound convincing or convinced.

“Oh, god, Jon…”

His mouth twisted and he did not grip her hand back when she took his.

“I just… I’m sorry, Jon. I’ll tell Mum and Dad that you were stressed out about work and—”

“You don’t have to make excuses for me, Georgie,” Jon said. “I, I misjudged how ‘meeting the parents’ would go. What it would be like.”

“They’re just older adults,” Georgie said. “I could tell you some silly stories about them, if that would help? My dad’s done some ridiculous—”

“No, thank you,” Jon said. He ran his fingers through his tidy beard a couple of times, sighed, and finally shook his hand away from hers. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders for a moment, a strange little side hug. “I appreciate you wanting me to meet them. Or you wanting them to meet me. All of us to meet each other. It’s… it means a lot. The gesture. Even if I was nervous about it.” He let go of her and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Of course, Jon,” Georgie said. “I care about you.”

He blinked at her. “Ah, I—thank you, Georgie. I care about you, too. I… tried.”

“I know.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek and he smiled at her. It even reached his eyes.

—————————

“It’s another two bags, Jon. I’m tired. The lift’s fucked and—”

“Georgie, I can’t,” Jon said. She caught the note of deadly seriousness in his tone that usually made her perk up, because she just knew he was about to be utterly ridiculous. “Come _look_.”

Georgie peered over the back of her sofa and had to press both hands to her mouth to keep from shrieking. She fumbled for her phone and started snapping pictures rapid-fire as Jon held perfectly still, beaming. At long last, after three months of pet ownership, The Admiral was on his lap, curled up tight and asleep. He stood out bright orange against the purple skirt Jon was wearing (Georgie’s least-favorite, but Jon safety pinned the waistband and wore it around the apartment on weekends).

“I’m so glad he’s a lap cat,” she whispered.

“Me too,” Jon said softly. His hands were sunk into the quilted skirt fabric, gripping the material to keep from petting the skittish rescue kitten. Any false move could send him scrambling for the space under Georgie’s desk, an orange-and-white streak of softness and fear. 

“You two are so cute,” she said. “I’m going to run out of space on my phone in a week if this keeps up.”

“You’re next,” Jon said, smiling up at her. “He’s warmed up enough to get on me, and we all know you’re the lovable one.”

“Much softer lap, too.”

“Very true.” Jon reached up to take her hand just as she started to turn away. 

There was one of those… choices that was starting to pop up. Not too often, but on occasion. Georgie could feel him wanting to share something with her, a happy moment or a feeling, but she could only think of the bags at the bottom of four flights of stairs that she was going to have to cart all the way up here. She could turn back still—these choices lasted more than a few seconds—but there were the groceries. 

She pretended she hadn’t seen his reach. When she glanced back, he was scratching the back of his head like he hadn’t tried to touch her at all. Maybe he hadn’t, actually. Maybe she’d just expected him to try and share a moment with her when he really just had an itch.

—————————

Jon lit a cigarette the minute they left the restaurant. Georgie watched him and he avoided her gaze, fiddling with his lighter between puffs.

Georgie huffed a furious breath out her nose and held out her hand. “Share?”

That made him look at her. “It’s been months.”

“One drag won’t send me back.”

“You have a recording tomorrow at—”

“Not anymore. I’m rescheduling.”

His eyebrows were crumpling together. “Why? You have a guest, that’s, that’s unprofessional—”

“You do _not_ get to call me unprofessional, Jon. Share. Now.”

Jon passed her the cigarette. 

Georgie took a drag—her first in months—and then passed it back, coughing viciously. “That’s terrible.”

“Sorry, I know Silk Cut isn’t your brand—”

“Yeah, but I wanted it.” She spat into the gutter. “Yuck.”

“S-sorry.”

“Stop _apologizing_ , Jon.” Georgie pulled her glasses off and scrubbed at her face with her hand. The grittiness of her eyelashes reminded her she’d put on makeup for this date and it made her angrier. “I keep wanting things and you keep giving them to me but you’re so _grudging_. Like you want to talk about it but don’t actually want to talk about it. You just want me to magically know when I run up against a boundary.”

“…Ah.”

Georgie crammed her glasses back on so she could glare better. “I’m running up against one now, aren’t I?”

Jon smoked his cigarette. Well, he took some shallow, nervous breaths around his cigarette. He looked so tired and miserable. Part of Georgie wanted to sigh and just hold him, because he looked like he needed a hug. He’d been looking miserable for over a year now, though, with no end in sight, and it was getting tedious to see. He was determined to stick this job out, and she couldn’t see why. She’d graduated, found the job market dry, taken a part-time gig at a cafe, and decided to pour her energy into something that was at least fun, even if it wasn’t entirely lucrative. Podcasting sounded fun, paranormal stuff would get her talking to strangers and researching… it would be ideal. Jon was just slogging in academia for the sake of slogging.

“Jon.”

He looked at her, and she almost took a step back because she’d never seen him look at her like that. It was like he was already done with the conversation. He gave her a small, pained smile as he crushed out his cigarette and dropped it into a bin. “Yes?”

“Oh,” Georgie said, a final burst of frustration. “You and your goddamn secret boundaries!” She sighed, feeling anger drain out of her. “I don’t get why you don’t _tell me_ when I’ve crossed a line. Apart from the sex stuff, which is fine." Jon waved his hands frantically at her. "This is the street, Georgie! Not here!" Georgie sighed. "All right. My point is, I want to know sooner what your actual opinions are. You can’t just… go along with things because I think trying a new restaurant will be fun and then get grumpy and huffy because I didn't realize you'd rather get a curry.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I can’t _fix_ everything, Georgie. Some stuff is just me. Like staying at a terrible job because being unemployed or having to work somewhere nonacademic is _worse_. Or disliking Hungarian food—sorry. Or not wanting to… to _talk_ everything to death.”

“You love talking,” Georgie said sharply. “You love giving a lecture or a monologue. Maybe _you_ should do a podcast. No, Jon, you just can’t talk about anything personal. And that's really, really hard to navigate when I care about you and want to know what you're feeling or thinking or wanting.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that! What are you sorry for?”

Jon wouldn’t look at her. “I think… perhaps… we shouldn’t be together anymore. Dating.”

“O-oh.” Georgie felt her whole body sink. It was like relaxing. It was like being gutted. She’d seen it coming and it was still a full-body ache of loss. “I… I see.”

“Yes,” Jon said awkwardly. “I… Well.”

They stood in silence on a street corner outside a brightly-lit Swedish bistro. There was a moment when neither of them knew what to say.

“Well,” Georgie said. “I’ll… I’ll go home, then. Um. We can swap stuff another time. Um.” She took a breath. It was quite unusual for her to cry and she didn’t feel like she was going to now, but her voice shook as she said, “Do you think we can stay friends?”

“No,” Jon said flatly. He still wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were on the bin where he’d thrown away his cigarette. His shoulders were hunched. He looked very cold and unkind and strange to her.

That tipped it. “Well, fuck you too, Jonathan Sims. Too much work to keep an ex in your life?”

He flinched at that, but before she could feel bad, he finally looked at her and he was glaring. “I just don’t think I fit what your image of a good life is,” he snarled. “I’m not _trying_ hard enough, I suppose.”

She gasped for air, lungs emptied by his ferocity and her own rising anger. “Just because I think you should—”

“You think I _should_ do a lot of things,” he said, barreling over her. “You think you know best, hm? Could live my life for me, better than I could?”

“You’re _miserable_! You’re making yourself miserable! You can fix it!”

“Some things aren’t there to be fixed!” Jon roared. 

People were staring. A few passersby on the street were slowing, watching the two of them suspiciously. Jon wasn’t a large man, but he was loud and his voice was stronger than he was. Georgie took a breath to calm herself, then another. “Okay, fine. Whenever you decide to take charge of your situation again, you know I’ll support you. I love you a lot. But if you don’t want to, to put in the effort to stay friends, that’s… Well. I’ll be around if you want to have a chat. I’m going home now.”

“Right,” Jon bit out, eyes still sharp and snapping with rage. His lip was curled in a grimace as she turned away. He didn’t call after her. 

—————————

Georgie didn’t see Jon again for five years. He was excited to get his new job at the Magnus Institute, and she was happy for him. He stopped texting her every week, then he stopped texting at all. She heard a bit about him from mutual acquaintances over the years, heard from Melanie about his promotion (and it was a bit odd for him to get that much responsibility without relevant education experience). She sent him a congratulations, got a 'thanks' text back three days later, and left it at that. And then she picked him up from a cafe where he’d used their phone to call her.

Jon looked even older than before, grey streaks standing out against his dark hair. He had a full beard, which he’d never grown in college, and some strange pockmark scars on his face and neck, and he was wrapped around an untouched paper cup of Earl Grey. He looked like he was still dressing from thrift stores, but this time he’d gone into the professor look. As she scanned him, she saw there was a square bulge in the pocket of his tweed jacket. 

“Jon,” she said, and he jumped.

“Ah! O-oh, Georgie.” He looked at her like he hadn’t expected her to show up.

“Hey there,” she said. “Long time, no see.”

“Yes. I, I’m—“

“Don’t start apologizing.” She sat down across from him, since it was clear he wasn’t going to stand and hug her or anything. He was still staring at her, eyes darting over her clothes and hair, cataloguing changes. She allowed it. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face, though, and after a moment, he smiled a little as well. 

“How are you?” he asked.

“Well enough. Podcasting’s keeping me and the Admiral afloat for now.”

His smile softened and widened, a rare dimple appearing near his chin. “Ah, yes, I’ll admit I got an Instagram just to see the latest Admiral pictures.”

“And you memorized my phone number, apparently,” Georgie said. Jon winced, but she continued, “Not very millennial of you.”

“Oh god, don’t you start,” he said. “I’ve been telling people I’m in my mid thirties.”

Georgie laughed at that. “You look like shit, I bet they believe you.”

“It’s fairly believable, yes. Um.”

“Straight to business?” she asked, unsurprised. He ducked his head and she sighed. “Go on, then.”

“I… need somewhere to stay, Georgie. Just for a bit. I can’t go home right now. I can’t have people know where I am, either, and… Well, honestly, you’re the only person I trust right now. Work got… really bad.”

“Jesus, Jon.” She sat forward and reached out a hand, in case he wanted it. “Did something happen? Are you all right?”

“I’m not hurt.” He said it without particular emphasis but her eyes narrowed nonetheless. Up close, she could see his hands were twitching slightly from where they were wrapped around his cup. There was no steam rising from his tea—he hadn’t touched it and it’d gone cold. There were deep bags under his eyes.

“Right,” Georgie said quietly.

“I, I can help pay rent,” Jon said quickly.

“I’m not desperate for cash right now.”

“No, I, that wasn’t meant to imply—“

“If it makes you feel better you can help with groceries or something, but I don’t need your money,” Georgie said. “You need a safe place to stay?” Jon slowly nodded, and Georgie said, “Then you can stay. As long as you need. I’d like to hear what all this work shit was, but I can understand if it’s still too raw right now. Too new. C’mon. Let’s go.”

Jon was staring at her, eyes huge. He looked stunned.

Georgie snorted. “What, Jon? Did you think I’d tell you to fuck off, now that you’re finally talking to me again?”

“I, I, I don’t know,” Jon said. “I haven’t… People haven’t really, uh. Wanted me around much, lately. And I’m asking for something huge. I mean, I haven't exactly... It's been five years and I'm asking to move in with you when I have absolutely nothing except what I'm wearing and what I have in my pockets. You have every right to tell me to fuck off.”

“We’re friends,” Georgie said, and Jon rocked back like she’d struck him. She took the initiative and took his hand. He gasped a little, and Georgie felt how tightly his fingers clutched hers. She smiled reassuringly. “It’s fine. Come on, I’ll take you home. The Admiral will be glad to see you. Doesn’t look like you’ve gotten bigger in the past few years, so I don’t think my clothes will fit you any better than they used to, but we can get you some stuff tomorrow and I have some _What The Ghost?_ merch lying around. I’ve got some Thai food leftovers you won’t hate, too.”

Jon closed his eyes and breathed deeply. With great sincerity, he said, “Thank you, Georgie.”

“Of course, Jon,” she said. "I care about you."

"Still?" The question seemed to surprise even him as he said it, but Georgie grinned at him.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"I know, it's a surprise, you misanthrope. Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I'm not good at making Jon be a verbal asshole as much as a non-communicative asshole, sadly. Wish I could write him meaner but it's hard! I will keep working on it.
> 
> Picking bands for Jon to have strong opinions about was difficult. I settled on wordless electronic stuff because I like to think his academic interest in everything needs a chill soundtrack. Classical felt a bit too on-the-nose for an ’old for his age’ nerd.
> 
> I like Jon stealing clothes from his significant other and I have seen such good fanart of Jon in skirts and I love it very very much for casual-wear.
> 
> Boundaries are good to have and establish in any relationship, I support and encourage boundaries! I hope it comes across that the issue here is a lot of repeated failures to communicate and zero attempts to improve it.


End file.
